House vs Spencer
by lolgal555
Summary: Spencer sneaks into Princeton Plainsboro, attempting to reveal House as a murderer, but he gets more than what he bargained for.


Shawn stealth-walked into Princeton Plainsboro, half dragging is rambly and talky friend Gus besides him.

"Shawn, this is a hospital! Shawn, he's a cripple! Shawn, cripples can't murder people! Shawn…" Shawn Shawn Shawn, he repeated, over and over.

As soon as it got annoying enough, Shawn turned around, and placed his hands on is friend's shoulders. "Gus, I'm telling you, no one wears those kinds of shoes without a reason. I'm telling you, what I saw, was blood, I just need proof."

Gus sighed and turned around. "No, Shawn, I'm not doing this."

Shawn scoffed. "Oh come on, man! I thought you'd be psyched to meet the top ranking doctor in like, all of New Jersey."

Gus shook his head, most likely shaking off a remark. After a few seconds, he muttered something inaudible.

Shawn brought his head closer, pointing is ear towards Gus. "What was that?" He asked.

"…Fine," he muttered. "But I'm not going anywhere near his office," he gambled.

Shawn nodded his head. "Fine, now please, walk more softly, we're going to look suspicious with you stomping around so loudly."

Gus rolled his eyes.

House hobbled in, noticing someone in the corner of his eye. He didn't turn to face the man, and instead ignored him. At least now, he could forget about the files he held in his hand.

"43 year old female, unexplained coma, in the middle of the street." Foreman spoke up, but was easily ignored.

"Even better," House dropped the files in his hand, letting them fall to the floor, "30-something year old male, brown hair, deep, beautiful blue eyes that stare straight into my heart broken old heart," he sighed dramatically. House then turned around and pushed the door of his office open, to reveal the spy. "All we really need to know, is why he was listening in to my diagnosis." He glared at the man before him.

The man's eyes widened in a state of shock, then looked around in an act of horror. "He's coming," he said, in a soothing, yet frightful voice. "He's here, he's in this very room, I can sense it!"

Cameron and Chase both stood up. "I think he's hallucinating!" said the first.

"We need to get him to the hospital, stat!" said the second.

But House put his cane in front of the door, stopping the two in their tracks. "He's lying," he deadpanned.

The man quietly, an on-cue, broke out of his charade, falling in a heap onto the floor. He sighed solemnly, slowly standing up. He reached his hand out towards House, though he did not try to touch him. Instead, he brought his hand to his heart. "Oh, ye of little faith," he whispered.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?" Were the only annoyed words that came from Gregory House.

The man seemed slightly taken aback, but answered nonetheless. "I am Shawn Spencer, head Psychic detective."

In the background, a snort could be heard from the room. House didn't care to analyze the snort in that moment.

House, most unexpectedly, nodded his head. "How do these things come to you? How do you see them, and what type of things, exactly, do you see?" He was in a mode, now. It was as if Gregory had officially made this man his new case.

The detective seemed to expect this answer, giving his head a small shake of his own. "Well, Doctor, my visions are blurred and scattered. Sometimes I hear things, sometimes I see things, sometimes I experience things, I've even smelt things a few times. I fear, I cannot control it."

* * *

It would take some effort, but Shawn was adamant that he could convince this Doctor that he was psychic.

The Doctor took a step towards Shawn, backing him up into the opposite wall of Greg's office. "My friend, who works in the office next to this one, has been divorced how many times?" He asked.

Shawn thought back, but could not remember a time when that was mentioned through the wall, or seen on a piece of paper. Darn. Point 1, House.

"As I said, I cannot see through my third eye so easily, I cannot simply know." Shawn explained, hoping it was convincing enough for the man who had threateningly backed him into a wall.

The Doctor towered over Shawn. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

Shawn's eyes darted around for a reflection, and at last saw two fingers in a near window, as faint as it was. "Two," he answered simply.

By this point, he had an audience of three. A muscular black man, an Australian blonde, and a short, cute blonde. He instinctively checked her hand, more-so her ring finger; she wasn't taken, at least not yet. He made a mental note to get this girl's number in some way or another.

This answer did not phase the doctor once so ever. It was as if he never heard it. He seemed to get closer, if that were at all possible. "Who, in this hospital, is my biggest love?" He said it oh so seriously, with no sarcasm in his voice once-so-ever, it was almost comical.

So Shawn turned his smirk into a soft smile, as he closed his eyes almost all the way, his eyes darting around the room, searching for memories… After five whole seconds, he almost wanted to give up and say that the scary old doctor didn't have a heart, but he had watched too many Disney movies to be proven otherwise. So instead, he softly shook his head. 2 points House, 1 point psychic.

As his eyes continued to scan the floor, however, he saw the face of one of his favorite porn stars sticking out from under a box. He looked up, giving the doctor a serene stare. "Alas, I cannot confirm your love life, but I do know you have an eye for Dannie McClaire. (- Random Pornish name from the top of my head.)"

* * *

House smirked. It was so easy. He stepped back several paces, and then pointed his cane accusingly at the 'psychic.' "This man, is not a psychic," he said simply. The detective seemed taken aback, until House added, "but he _is_ a descend detective, I'll give him that."

There was a pause from the three-manned, - well, two man one woman - audience.

The 'psychic' was about to speak, until House spoke over him: "Let's go backwards. All he figured out was from a good eye, and probably good recollection, if I'm not mistaken." He looked to the man for conformation, but didn't let him answer. "For the beautiful model, she's right here," he pointed with his cane to the box, and more-so, what was under it. "Cameron, could you look under that box for me please?" She did so, and as she showed the picture, everybody in the room blushed, except for House. "For my fingers, there's a reflection in the window."

"You're in deep distress about you're love life!" the 'psychic' blurted out.

House smirked. "Oh, so you _did_ notice my ' _how to Deal With Love_ ' book!" He motioned to his desk and there was, in fact, a book there with that title. The man's body language confirmed it.

The three crown members looked confused, until Foreman spoke up. "Soo, can we get back to the case now?"

House grinned. "Sure." He turned back to the faker, "you found your way in, so I'm pretty sure you can find your way out?"

The detective looked defeated, and headed out the door.


End file.
